


She

by VergeofChaos



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First time Lucific, Fluff, He can't return but he needs to see her, Love, Lucifer is in hell, Lucifer is not doing well, Not exactly a fix-it but lenient, Post Season 4, Romance (kinda), This isn't exactly ethical with the time difference in Hell but to Hell with it., not beta-ed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26034466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VergeofChaos/pseuds/VergeofChaos
Summary: Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw virtue in her shape how lovely—saw, and pined his loss.-Paradise Lost
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	She

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. I've read a ton of fantastic fics here both for Lucifer and my Buffy/Angel OTP Cordelia and Angel as well as have commented on several but this is my first time posting my own work to Ao3. 
> 
> I actually started writing this last year, before Covid-19. I was hoping to get this out a lot sooner but I’m a bit of an ADD writer with an ADD muse. :P
> 
> I hate that I didn’t get this finished before the season 5 release date. Now the concept hardly matters, it’s obsolete and I’m a bit self-conscious about publishing it without beta but the last time I finished and published a fic was a little over a decade ago for Twilight (and I got over Twilight almost a decade ago). I just had to see this through. 
> 
> Please note that this is my first Lucific and my first time writing in the present tense. It wasn’t the original intent but it kind of imposed itself. The lines insisted on reciting themselves that way in my head and it just felt right.
> 
> So the time jump in the series is two months but D.B Woodside said in an interview that it's been centuries in Hell. No exact difference is specified but in this piece, I’m gonna say it’s been the same two months on Earth (which I decided long before the teasers were released) somewhere between 200-500 years. 
> 
> This actually puts the logic of this entire concept to a question of ethics on Lucifer’s part but as much of a perfectionist as I am sometimes even I can damn some logic to Hell. Your excuses are invalid. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope this came out at least halfway decent.  
> I don’t think it is. It’d be better with more time to develop, expand and polish it. I’m sorry!
> 
> Feel free to contact me on Twitter even just to chat about Lucifer: @_Darksarcasm  
> Please note that I am avoiding season 5 spoilers right now as I am making my way through it watching partying with my best friend. 
> 
> This work might also appear on FF.net (Verge of Chaos), Tumblr (Sympathyfrthedevil though I generally do not use it) and LJ (Thewolfsmoon).

It was a silent night until the low beat of an unnatural force ruffling the air suddenly seems to rattle the still earth.

A figure stands on a balcony in the darkness, ivory wings folding behind him into oblivion, and swipes ash from the shoulders of his tattered and torn three piece suit jacket.  
For a long moment, he holds his position scrutinizing the curtain clad sliding glass door before him. 

[i]Weak. Selfish. Rubbish![/i] A voice in his mind scolds. 

Something crunches under his foot, dropping his gaze to a shattered wine glass on the ground.  
Rising from accepting the offering he glances once again at the door and he flinches at the red coarse corrosion over his hand as he lifts the jagged edge of the glass shard over his upturned palm. 

He swallows, his throat clenching as it struggles to pass the saliva and his breathing is ragged, the fresher air burning his ashen lungs. 

Hope is the cruelest of lies. It seeps into the veins and gnaws at the heart, festering the soul.  
The cat is always dead, oh but the high is glorious. Glorious indeed. 

Clenching his occupied hand to control it’s trembling he slices a small thing line into his flesh.  
He hisses at the burn of a successful marring and exhales erratically as he watches the flow of fresh blood. 

He swears under his breath in some polluted mix of a corrupted verbal language and an unintelligible snarl. 

Just this once. 

He holds his breath as with all his celestial grace, he sides open the exposed inner screen door and steps into the room gazing at the figure that lay slumbering in beauty. 

Oh sweet torturer from above.  
The light bearer’s long lost light.  
His addiction.  
Agony.  
Euphoria.  
His reason. 

Clad in just a white dress shirt of his that rides up just enough to reveal part of her toned  
thigh, a braid hanging disheveled between her shoulder blades she is a distant memory tainted by darkness. His darkness. 

He steps around the foot of the bed, the mirror that once predicted her death now boring inferno filled irises into his soul. 

A whimper cuts through the silence and for a split second, the world comes to an end.  
Her brow furrows and her form tightens. Run. Now.

Slowly he lowers himself to sit on the edge of bed and ever slightly, brushes the backs of his index and middle fingers down the tear tracks dried upon a pale, swollen cheek. His heart clenches.  
She shifts her head and his breath gets caught in his chest, his heart stops until a soft exhale leaves her lips and once again she falls still. 

It is all for naught. 

The public execution he’d staged for those who’d couped had become an unadulterated, rage-fueled slaughter when all he’s lost reflected back at him in their defiant eyes and inadvertently declared war on the rising democracy.  
It chills his very veins. The very idea far surpasses these condemned, isolated creatures’ intelligence which meant there had to be an outside influence.  
The priest had been the gateway but with an inverted objective and no knowledge of the laws of the monarchy.  
The ache below his shoulder blades that remained from the most recent of countless abuses of his wings came with horrible insinuation. 

With such a tenderness as though she is made of sand, he lifts her into his corroded arms and cradles her to his chest, the movement causes his shirt to ride up further on her legs and he readjusts it. Her soft moan causes a breath to catch in his throat. 

He will get answers. 

As he rocks her oh so lightly, he rests his cheek upon her crown, and tears burn through the inferno. 

Oh, he instilled his wrath into some of their misshapen hearts but how it shattered him to submit to the defamation of human religion, to be their vile mirror image of his father and for so little. The damage has been done, his authority eroded. 

He’s been drowning out the cacophony of condemning voices in his head in a symphony of the damned human essence dissolving into the mere notion it was created from.  
His masterpiece, his mask, his poison. 

Alas the ache remained, the images.  
The large puddle on the ground with no victim.  
The infant in the hands of a corpse.  
The smirk of a dying serial killer who believed he would not be damned.  
Her anguished tears and declaration. The one he’d fought so hard for, the one that fell on a forlorn heart. 

Again the devil falls.  
Into utter despair. Victim to his own domain. The pure darkness of it seeped into his veins, consuming him like a cancer. 

He pours all that he’s buried in his depths into her golden locks.  
Pain, fear.  
His apology that he has been failing her.  
His utter relief to feel her warmth, her purity against him.  
It feels almost orgasmic and it takes all of his strength not to let it rip from his chest in hard sobs. He can hardly contain the tremors that wrack his body. 

Yes, the devil cries.  
For his beloved alone, but she shall never know. 

He dares to lay back and closes his barren eyes. He does not need to sleep but he is exhausted.  
She is now wrapped around him in a tangle of limbs that appears deliberate as though this is right, this is life and for the first time in ages he relaxes. He feels peace. 

For just a moment. 

A bird chirps in the dawn chorus, lest he forget the existence of time in this realm.  
He glances out the window to see that his own essence has begun to paint hues of orange and pink across the horizon. A banner of rebirth, of hope, now a dire red flag of warning. 

Carefully, he lowers her onto the mattress and rises to his feet an angel once more.

For just a moment. 

She turns over to face the balcony and with a whoosh and the ringing of her phone, awakens in the same empty room with the same shattered heart.  
And the scent of ruins and destruction beside her, drawing her nose into the mattress, into the wrongness of it.  
For there in the ash, lies the musk of the new phoenix rebuilding itself.

No. 

She mustn't succumb. 

She rises from the bed and steps over to close the sliding glass door when a glint of shimmering white catches her gaze.  
She crosses the threshold and bends before the object to inspect it closely. 

A single, unnaturally large feather. 

She can not stop her lips curling into a faint smile as she rises, clutching the evidence to her breast. 

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> First and most importantly, I want to apologize for the ending. I somewhat rushed it because I really really wanted to get this up before season 5’s release even if just barely and failed at that. Furthermore, my muse seemed to adamantly just be done with this fic. I wanted give Lucifer a second visit to reveal that Chloe had picked up on the first due to the evidence he’d left behind in his hasty retreat but it just didn’t want to be written. 
> 
> Chloe living in an apartment AND having a second story bedroom made this concept a bit difficult to pull off but I was as canon-compliant as possible. 
> 
> Although we don’t much see her bedroom, I’m not convinced that she has a balcony (though it is indeed possible for apartments, trust me I grew up in them and the last one had a balcony though not a bedroom one). 
> 
> I did originally plan for him to enter through the front door. Locks are seemingly not an issue for him as first seen in the towel drop scene in 1x4 but I felt it was too awkward and wasn’t exactly stealthy particularly with the stairs and potentially (if she’s not at Dan’s) Trixie.  
> The balcony provided a graceful and somewhat poetic entrance as well as plausibility for the wine glass shard (which I was 1000% NOT willing to part with, that’s my favorite part) and the pressure to make a quick exit.


End file.
